"Sorry," said Kirk, handing his poleax to Duke. He turned back to the scapegoat of all of his geriatric frustrations. "We've never heard of any Passepout the entertainer, but you know what?"

"What?" whispered the now-meek traveler named Passepout, who was afraid that he would be spending the night in the dungeon for vagrancy, or some such other charge of which he was guilty.

"Duke here reminded me that rumor has it there are some pickpockets in the neighborhood who are trying to pass themselves off as entertainers…"

"Well, good sir," said Passepout, trying to regain some control, "if I should see any I will be sure to let you know, civic duty and all, and if you'll kindly allow me to be on my way, I'll…"

Closing in on the newcomer to the gate of Suzail, gently forcing him backward until his back was against the city wall with no place else to go, the cold surface of the stone chilling Passepout to the bone through his threadbare clothes, Kirk continued, saying, "Funny. Seems I do recall a pair of pickpockets named Idle and Catinflas from somewhere around Baldur's Gate. You any relation to them, punk?"

"You must be mistaken," insisted Passepout, not really answering the question, now sure that his night in the dungeon would be preceded by a beating, and dreading every minute of it. "I'm just a lowly street performer, and…"

"Do you know what we do to suspected pickpockets in Suzail?" asked Kirk, balling his gauntlet-clad hand into the fist that he held dangerously close to the traveler's pudgy nose. "Do you know what we do?" he repeated. Duke stayed two paces behind, holding his poleax in his crossed arms, ready and waiting for the amusement that was sure to follow.

"Oh, good! A quaint local custom. Let me take notes," a new voice added to the city gate milieu.

Kirk turned from the cowering Passepout toward the source of the voice and confronted the latest traveler to attempt entrance at the gate.